5/12/2011 - ∞

I wish time were a dot

Late Night Lovin'

I cried last night and I cried for very, very good reasons.
Last night was absolutely lovely. The loveliest. There was a student musician showcase concert that I went to. The whole day had been just very off and odd and bad, one of those moods where I feel like everything I do is just made of failure. Still not entirely sure of whether I was right or not, whatever.
I am extremely close to this girl named NLE. Not romantically, but very close. She was there, too. So this girl named NLE and I decide to make the most of the music. When the larger bands came on, we decided to skank and just dance however the hell we wanted to to each and every song. Did we look weird and imbalanced and drunk? More than likely, but we so thoroughly enjoyed it. We looked so wild, I'm sure, and we felt awesome just getting everything out. I think that's what it was. She's had problems with a boy; I've been making up problems with a girl. She got too dependent on him too fast and found out he's not the kind of person you leave your things with. I just have the usual shyness that comes up when I want it least and beat myself up for being so complacent when I apparently have such a good chance. We confided within each other these feelings after the show.
We went off on a tangent. I forget where our conversation crossed into another, but I remember now. I found a small purple Swiss Army knife left behind in our room. Must not mean anything, since no one's looked for it. We talked about that, then we talked about cutting. She's the only one who knows about it here. We talked about it again last night. "Did I ever tell you that I used to cut, too?" I bet I looked astonished. She showed me a tiny scar nestled in between the wrinkles of her left wrist. She says most of hers are somewhere on her legs. We talked a lot about this kind of stuff. The emotional breakdown in front of my parents, and the awkward night my Ma first rubbed her hand across my scarred shoulder, how my dad didn't believe her until he saw them, too. She talked about her medicated youth, the helplessness of her parents when she would bang her head against the wall when she was little. She described it to me, and I could perfectly imagine the ironic little lamp adorned nightstand in her room, its bottom drawer with her medications, then articles on borderline personality disorder that doctors had given her, then her unbroken safety razors. We talked about what we thought about when we did it, why. We both had the same complex guilt. "I feel like shit and I feel so so so stressed, but I have no reason to." We felt we didn't deserve to complain. When we cut, that's when we knew damn well why we felt the way we did. What nuance in such an ugly thing.
It's not just the cutting. It's the extended meals we have, the almost empathetic connection we share. The sheer synergy. It's also the other stuff we talk about with each other, the helping out with stupid problems we probably make up all ourselves anyway. I got to telling her how happy I was that I had her as such a close friend, how grateful I am to myself for swooping in on her that one night after dinner. How awesome we've been since. I teared up, and I almost shed them.
I'm so happy about her.

The Significance of Unattended Bicycles

I thought I had learned not to trust this feeling, but here it comes again, ready or not, willing or not, benign or not.
We sat together at our own table with our vegetarian dinners and "Float On" was playing in the background, except you could only hear the bass line and the chords changing. I somehow manage to eat less than her, even though she's half my size. I had confessed to her why I like eating at this dining hall on Mondays, even when the vegetarian options aren't good, to see that girl for at least a few more seconds than I normally would. She lays her fork onto her plate and says, in a tone unpatronizing and even sweet, "You really like her, don't you?"
I've made a huge mistake. I've felt too much and done nothing, received nothing. If I was spartan, stoic, more scientific, more discerning, maybe I wouldn't have done this again, wouldn't see anything in where she leaves her bike. Now I'm at that awkward and self-defeating junction: Do I give up, sever all attachment and just think nothing of it anymore, or keep on this feeling, hoping something in it turns to boldness, words, actions perhaps?

Hot Water

Hot water is just fantastic! I just love how I can go to our bathroom down the hall whenever I want and I can experience it. If I've been outside too long with no gloves, I can turn on the tap to rub hot water on my hands to keep them from hurting and drying up. Every morning or evening, I can get up and take as hot a shower as I want. In the dining hall, I can get hot water to make tea with, and then pour in milk and honey and any other thing I want.
I don't know why it makes me so happy. For the strangest reason, I always think of what things would be like without that luxury. Less sanitary, if you look at it pragmatically, but who cares about health? The things to look forward to would diminish by, not one, but hundreds. Cold showers and cold tea, that would be awful. Warmth. How in hell is it so valuable? The sensation alone improves a bad mood, and it's not as addictive as other sensations.
There's a famous study of a baby monkey. He was basically raised by two robot mothers from which he would get his milk from and everything, except one had a soft yellow sleeve over it. The baby monkey soon only accepted milk from the soft robot. I guess maybe that sort of explains it, the value of warmth, I mean. Attachment is created through pleasant sensation. If something isn't warm, it makes the entire environment more hostile. Imagine being a college student with only cold showers and tea available. How difficult would that become?
I love overcast days, but if those little pockets of warmth weren't so easily accessible, I'd have a lot of trouble.
Is that spoiled? I don't think so. No one wants to live without warmth, and if they have to, their life doesn't seem better at all for it. People can deal, and so would I, but it just goes back to the monkey. The whole environment gets better with things like that to enjoy.

I Will Marry 60% Of My Classmates

We were talking about Erickson's psychosocial stages the other day in my introductory psychology class. We got to experiences in early adulthood, which ultimately determine a person's intimacy with other people, or their isolation. This lead to that until my professor said something about our friends now. Some of the people I know now I will still have a close connection to thirty years from now. That's simply the strangest thing to me.
The people I know are from every place. One's from Georgia, most are from Massachusetts, others from New York, Alaska, Michigan, so on. It's crazy to me that the people I casually eat dinner with now, I'll be flying across the country to see them in my middle age. Maybe I'm just not confident in that right now. Maybe I'm a cynic at the moment, can't see any of that happening either because I think people'll be too busy or are too busy, or I'll just fuck things up with the people I really wouldn't mind flying cross-country for right now. The latter just seems painfully possible at the moment.
I've been going back a lot to the old questions again: Am I annoying/stupid/mean/rude/making you feel too uncomfortable to even look at me when you say goodbye? I can't help but think that's all I ever act like.
But she laughs, confides. What does anything mean?

Vacillating, Fickle, Etc.

I don't know if I like this anymore, or what I don't like anymore. It could just be one of those old episodes of that very instant feeling of being upset, except it seems they aren't old at all. I hate those. They would waste so much time with me just staring outside my window watching the young fig tree outside in our backyard bend around in the wind. I can't let myself get into that state again, not even for a minute. Not thinking's just as bad as thinking too much about it, and both are never as good as doing something. I've got too much studying to do today, too.
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Avey Tare- "Laughing Hieroglyphic"

Dancing From Mouthtips, to Perfume, to Macquoit Road

For those of us who don't remember (what's wrong with you?), "Hey Ya!" was a hit single by Outkast way back in 2003. It was kind of popular. I danced to it last night, a little after I told myself that I shouldn't care about things right now. I was worried at first, but I told myself that I needed to get to thinking about absolutely nothing at the moment. She wasn't there. And if she was, what would I even do? If I couldn't even let go of myself when there was no one looking for me, then what? So I danced, and I didn't feel awkward. I really got into whatever song was playing, even if I didn't know it, which was most of them, and this isn't about her anymore. I can dance for myself, now. Least, so long as there's a group I know. At least.
I found the mouthpiece I used for hookah last night in my sweater pocket. It smelled of ashy guava and jasmine and I remembered how much closer I am to falling into this place. I don't use mouthpieces because I'm sick or a germophobe, I use them just for this reason, remember the night before.
Her scent's still a phantom, though, presenting itself at times I don't think of her, when she isn't even here or around, whenever. I think I'll just have to dance harder and bike until my lungs are filled with the air of the marsh that Macquoit Road falls into.